Humanity Lost?

I am, and have always, had a humanistic view of the world. All humans are basically good. Circumstances, environments, learned abhorrent behaviors, cause us to shift away from our innate goodness. Fixable.

Over the last ten years, my rose-colored glasses have been stepped upon, but they’ve never been destroyed. I repair them. I keep looking for the good, even when I notice the horror.

Over the last five years, I’ve found my glasses have escaped my awareness, at times. I find them, dust them, put them on. I purposely seek the good.
Over the last three years, I’ve had to use duct tape on my rose-colored, war-weary glasses. I put them on and pray to find a snippet of goodness.

Sidebar: I began to wonder where social media, and the inundation of information factored into this negativity. Were we always this EVIL, DECEITFUL, DUPLICITOUS, FOUL, DISMISSIVE, DIVISIVE, DISHONORABLE, HORRIBLE, EVIL, HEINOUS, UNCARING, ARROGANT, BOASTFUL, EVIL, UNGODLY, WARMONGER-ISH (Yes, I made up a word. If Betsy DeVoss is education secretary, I can create words), DISENFRANCHISED, FAKE, PHONY, ANGRY?

Over the last year, I’ve found that my patience became shorter, my mood more foul than pleasant, and I kept repeating the phrase, ” Awww, come ON!” My rose-colored glasses, removed from the case where they were kept, sat gingerly atop my nose, red from crying, as my search for goodness elicits more sad tears, than happy results.

Over the last few months, I’ve lost more and more faith in the human race. Not by the day, but by the minute. Not just on a macro level, but micro, too. Shock and anger have been replaced with heavy sighs. Numbness has set in. The absolute worst is the expectation of the day.

Hey! Where the heck did these glasses come from? Huh. Must have worn them once. Back in the junk drawer with ya.

Beautiful Anxiety

Beautiful anxiety

Courses thru my Spiritual veins

I anticipate the draw, the vessel

That will capture that precious essence.

That will release the life-blood of positive change.

Into my here, into my now.

Spill gently, over my lifetime,

That I may one day leave this place

Peacefully, joyously,


Copyright-Steal it and I’ll kill ya!


Adventures With the Source

I was comfortable on my back; swaddled within a cocoon of nourishment, safety, and love. It was very dark, but I wasn’t afraid; although, sometimes I did feel a bit….restless, so I’d move around- always connected to the source . Every once in a while,  l would spontaneously move at the source, just to to say “I’m awake now”- to communicate. The source would connect. It caused a vibrating in my space, my liquid universe. It was pleasant, and I was still, again. 

The source would sometimes move me- gently, via these repetitive motions. Almost always the same. Pulling me in, pushing me away. In, out-in, out. 

There was always one constant…something . Measured and strong. Slow and controlled. Sometimes quickened, and again calm . It came from inside the source; it was connected to me, but peripherally. I had it, too,  but my “something ” was inside.  It always seemed to be hurried, urgent, asking to be noticed. How strange.  

I began to notice changes in my liquid environment. 

Things began to happen. New things.  Perpexing things- something else. I’d begun to shift, but not of my own volition. 

Soon, it became consistent-persistent. Swirling movements, some slow, others jerking me around at uncomfortable angles. The source seemed…different. There were times where I felt my ever shrinking liquid heaven being probed, invaded; not by the source.  How could this be? How interesting . 

The growingly claustrophobic atmosphere caused me to move in unfamiliar ways. Those things that were above me, were now to one side, or another. I found it difficult to be still.  So did the source.  It’s restlessness became mine. The area of my safe haven began to disappear at an alarming rate.  More shifting, more changing, more…me. The liquid, the cushion, the warmth…why was it leaving me, and what was the faint “thing” beginning to intrude?

There was so much me, now. Things unfamiliar , and just plain odd. One thing, once whole, seemed to now have segments, but was still attached to what was left of its whole. One on each upper side. How peculiar?

My largest part? Extra pieces had now sprung forth, but remained attached at angles; perpendicular, horizontal, vertical…all while the movement took on a defined pace. That probe was back this time, and that “thing” that caused discomfort to one of my new attachments was drawing ever closer. 

 More probing,  for longer, and more often. It caused me to move away, as it seemed to call me from my stillness. 

RETREAT! I wanted back to safety . I wanted back to the freedom of movement,  when I wanted to. I wanted the source to be calm. Stop moving, save me from the probing, stop this invasion. 
The source was frenetic in its energy. There were other things, too. More vibrations, but distinct to some of this new parts. The ones flanking my large part, faint, but discernible. The piercing of the two on the front of my large part, furiously trying to withdraw from that “thing”. I tried to process the acceleration of the loss of control, the loss of space, of reflexive movement…the probing, the now metered vibrations. WHAT IS THAT “THING”? Source, where is our calm? My liquid, it’s moving me into an even more restricted space. It doesn’t feel safe, anymore. I’m not warm. I’m not free. 

The things that grew on the sides of my large part were buzzing, but all around me, now. My front growths were screaming, those separted parts, still attached, were flailing, everything in an inverted frenzy.  Enough! I had to stop it all. I pushed one of the flailing parts against the source, noticing the severe lack of cushion, and the movement slowed. Huh. I summoned a higher attachment. BANG, right against source. Suddenly, the swirling, the juxtaposition of my reality, the probing, the hurried pace the warmth remembered and I, and my new parts, my strange and curious parts, stopped. We just STOPPED. WE WON !

So tight. Can’t shift back to the haven, and the liquid has abandoned me, as had the source. The source’s energy was furiously engaging me, propelling again, but with greater force, with the buzzing getting closer. The “thing”, that “THING”, and the probe, too , we’re almost at my whole, with all it’s part being pushed together.  The speed with which the whole moved…the probe,  it’s the probe. Source, how could you? How fascinating. 

Beat, beat, thump; buzzing, confusion, “thing” at fullness . Cold. Source? My whole expands again, probing everywhere! My pieces in the large part waking, the buzzing becoming…different. SOURCE!
Wait. The the constant. The peripheral connection. Where? How? I can’t feel the source’s constant. How odd? My whole still has its own. 

There’s something all over my whole. When probed, it…feels, whatever that is? 

Something on my large part, right in the middle…doing something rhythmic, along with my whole. Familiar, but no liquid. Sharp, harsh and cutting. More probing, too much of the “thing”, as its always here, now. At the bottom of my large part, just under the rhythmic middle partner of the whole, an opening. Can I go through there? Is that where the Source is, now? My liquid universe? Oh, no! It’s.’s making me buzz, too. The pieces on either side of my large  part are startled. More involuntary move. …wait… beat, beat, beat. This IS new. It’s the SOURCE! But now, or thumps are disconnected . I feel it still, but through the covering. How puzzling? How warm. No liquid. But warm, rhythms in sync. Source will you stay with me always?

Te amo mater, mihi quo terrena.